


Twisting Allegories

by CrayCray4TayTay



Category: The Maze Runner (Movies), The Maze Runner Series - All Media Types, The Maze Runner Series - James Dashner
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/F, M/M, Parent Thomas, Slow Burn, Teacher Newt
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-28
Updated: 2021-03-10
Packaged: 2021-03-12 03:00:53
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,812
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29753055
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CrayCray4TayTay/pseuds/CrayCray4TayTay
Summary: Thomas thought that letting his daughter join the school chess club would be a good thing—for her.Then he met Newt.
Relationships: Harriet/Sonya | Elizabeth "Lizzy" (Maze Runner), Newt/Thomas (Maze Runner), Teresa Agnes/Brenda (Maze Runner)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 20





	1. Twisting Allegories

**Author's Note:**

> Hi, all!  
> I just want to make a couple quick notes, PLEASE READ:
> 
> Firstly I just want to thank [Kaja](https://twitter.com/bloodycounting) for coming up with the wonderful name of "Newton Wenley" for Newt and for letting me use it in this fic!  
> And for [Alice](https://twitter.com/newtswonderland) for using that name in the AMAZING fic [Right Here Beside You](https://archiveofourown.org/works/29117109/chapters/71477988) (which may or may not have inspired me to get off my ass and write this in the first place)
> 
> Secondly, I'm a sucker for a tragic backstory. So, AS A WARNING, there is a brief discussion of the death of a (completely fake) character and discussion of a miscarriage. It's all brief and nongraphic, but just be careful, loves. 
> 
> Thirdly, I'm hella unorginal, so you'll see several allusions to other works that the actors from the Maze Runner movies are in, they're pretty obvious, too. 
> 
> I hope you guys enjoy!

Thomas is running late. As per usual. 

He thought he’d made himself _very_ clear when he told the secretary he could only take appointments up until four today, and that she understood him. But apparently Rachel did not. 

So that’s why, at four-forty-five, Thomas is running as fast as he can to his car, throwing his bag and jacket into the passenger seat, and speeding out of the parking lot like a bat out of hell. Then it’s a fifteen minute fight through rush hour traffic to get to Eliza’s school. 

When Thomas pulls into the parking lot, he’s too busy prepping an apology to whichever poor teacher got roped into overseeing elementary school chess club—and subsequently, ended up staying an extra thirty minutes waiting for one last parent to show up—that he doesn’t notice he’s not the only car in the parking lot. 

He hurries inside, bee-lining directly for the little library that’s just off the main hallway. He stops just outside the open door, heart pounding in his throat, when he finally focuses on his surroundings and notices the little library is filled with about two dozen kids, all situated at tiny tables with chess boards laid out in front of them. There’s a tall, blonde man, dressed in a white button down with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows and stark black trousers, standing over one of the little tables, explaining something to two kids. Thomas isn’t sure what he’s explaining, just that it involves a lot of vague hand gestures and that one of the children listening is his own daughter, Eliza. 

Thomas continues to stand in the door, watching his daughter nod in understanding then move one of her chess pieces. How had she gotten so big? He saw her every day, didn’t he? So why does his heart clench at the sight of Eliza—sitting up perfectly straight with her dark hair pulled back into a tight ponytail (just like how her Aunt Teresa wears her hair), staring intently through her glasses at the chessboard like she’s performing brain surgery, and looking very much like a grown up with a baby face. She’s six after all, and he’s been there the whole time, this shouldn’t be a surprise. 

He’s too busy staring at his daughter and wondering how she’s gotten so big without him noticing, that he doesn’t notice the man approaching him. “Hello, there. You here for one of the kids?” 

He’s British. Interesting. 

“Hm? Oh, yeah, no, sorry. Just, my daughter is here, but I thought it ended at four-thirty.” Good job, Thomas, great first impression.  
“Close, but not quite. Five-thirty, actually. But, seeing as it’s five already, you’re welcome to stay. I’m Mr. Wenley. You are?” Mr. Wenley extends his hand for Thomas to shake, and after a second of hesitation, Thomas’ social autopilot kicks in and he reaches out to shake the blonde’s hand.

“I’m Thomas. Edison. Thomas Edison. No, not _that_ Thomas Edison. But, yes, my parents were cruel.” He had thought about changing it when he was eighteen, but his girlfriend at the time had thought it was cute so he kept it. Plus, he liked his first name. His sister Teresa was his twin and there was just something about sibling alliteration that was nice and felt like home to him, so he didn’t want to change that. So that left the last name, but Edison was a unique enough last name, and Amy had liked it a lot, enough to take it when they got married, so he left it. 

“Edison, huh? You must be Eliza’s father, then. She’s in my class.” Well, _that_ was news to Thomas. He couldn’t come to Eliza’s first grade open house because of work so he’d asked Teresa to take her instead, and he can’t say he truly paid attention when both girls caught him up over a late dinner of frozen pizza, but “Wenley” did sound familiar. “She’s a very smart girl, and very inquisitive. I’ll admit, I was quite happy when she signed up for chess, she has so much potential.”

Thomas doesn’t normally take compliments well, and once he became a parent, he became equally terrible at taking compliments for his child. So that explains why his brain stumbles a bit while looking for the right thing to say in response. “Oh, um, wow, thank you. Yeah, she’s a very smart kid, always asking questions. Took after her mom. If I’m being honest, I had figured that would get her into trouble.”

Mr. Wenley’s eyes open a little wider. The small grin he’d been wearing since he came up to Thomas also gets a bit bigger. “Nonsense. Curious children are a blessing, they absorb everything like a sponge at this age. The more questions they get answers to, the better off they’ll be later in life. I’ve always encouraged any and all questions in my classroom. For the record, though, Eliza does ask the most. Nothing wrong with that, of course, just thought you’d ought to know.” His grin is both breathtaking and reassuringly teasing. 

It’s like a weight had been lifted off Thomas’ shoulders. This is the perfect teacher for his daughter. Both her father and aunt deal with questions being hurled at them all day— “Why does my child have a cough? Why does my daughter have a fever? Where did my son get this rash? Why can’t my daughter get her cast off now? Can we please get another doctor’s note for school, she’s still saying she has a headache.”—so they can get a little short with her when she integrates them about dinosaurs and sidewalk chalk and every possible animal she can think of over dinner. It’s extremely relieving to know she has a teacher who takes every one of her questions in stride for the forty-ish hours she’s at school during the week, not including anything she might ask during chess club now, too. 

After a pause, Thomas grins back. “I expected nothing less from her. Thank you for putting up with it.” 

“It’s my job, Tommy, and I wouldn’t change it for the world.” 

Thomas doesn’t even get a full second to process that his daughter’s first grade teacher had just called him “Tommy,” because one of the children yells out, “You cheated!” and Mr. Wenley is racing off to the table to prevent physical violence over chess. Thomas continues to stand awkwardly at the doorway for a moment, trying to figure out what to do next. He glances back at Eliza; she’s still staring at the board before her like it’s the most fascinating thing in the world, and she’s still holding the straight posture she definitely got from watching her aunt. He looks around the small library, taking in the shelves of books with artwork displayed on the walls above them. The artwork was all done by the school’s students, he even recognizes a piece of Eliza’s artwork, he’d know that Crayola watercolor family portrait anywhere—him with his dark hair and white lab coat, his sister with her own long, dark hair and matching coat, his sister’s girlfriend, Brenda, in a dark bob and grease covered overalls, Brenda’s adoptive father Jorge, with dark skin and stained overalls as well, and Eliza, sporting two dark pigtails and her favorite yellow dress. He really hopes he gets to keep that once the school year is over. 

He looks over and spies an unoccupied chair at an unoccupied table, and he walks over to it, dragging it closer to where Eliza’s table is, but not close enough to disturb her. He looks back at the picture she painted, propped up on a stand and sitting above the nonfiction section. Next to it is some colorful clay sculpture done by some other student. It takes him a minute to realize why something seemed off about Eliza’s portrait. 

She didn’t draw her mother this time. 

Eliza had been brought into the world about two months early. She hadn’t been alone, either. Eliza had had a twin sister, in utero, but complications led to Amy losing one of the girls. That put everyone on edge, given that twins were already at-risk pregnancies, but Amy also came with some complications of her own. Those complications eventually led to Thomas losing not just one prospective daughter, but also his wife. As Eliza got older, it became harder and harder for Thomas to hear her call any woman in her life by “mama,” so at three he explained to her that she didn’t have a mom, just him, Aunt Teresa and Aunt Brenda, and Grandpa Jorge. In hindsight, he might’ve tried a different approach, but she was three and he was severely in over his head. When she was five, he explained that her mother died when she was born, but left out the part about also losing her twin sister; only give a kid so much trauma at a time, ya know?  
After that, Eliza began drawing pictures of her mother—what she thought she looked like, at least (Thomas had taken down any pictures of her when Eliza was a month old, it hurt him too much to see her. There’s only a strip of photobooth pictures of the two of them left on his nightstand, leaning against the lamp, that’s all he allowed himself to keep out).

Eliza’s creativity had caused him an awkward conversation with her kindergarten teacher, when the teacher noticed Eliza drawing what appeared to be a ghost woman whenever the students were asked to draw pictures of their families. Sometimes the apologies were worse than the looks of pity, if Thomas is being honest. 

He looks back at his daughter. He’ll be the first to admit that he knows nothing about chess, but she looks like she’s only a few more moves away from winning. She hasn’t even noticed him, and he’s a little relieved. He doesn’t want her worrying about including him. She always tries to include him when she does things, makes things, or when she plays anything. He knows that, as a father, it’s in the job description that he needs to interact with his child and be a part of their world for a little bit, but it’s nice to see her independently doing her own thing. 

“She’s pretty focused, there, isn’t she?” That accent was going to be the death of Thomas. 

He turns his head to see Mr. Wenley sitting in his own chair, pulled up beside Thomas’. “Yeah,” he replies, “she’s really good about that. Once she sets her mind to something, nothing stops her.”

“A very good quality. She’s going to rule the world one day with an attitude like that,” the blonde grins.

“Hopefully,” Thomas grins back, “That’s every parent’s dream, right?” 

Mr. Wenley’s grin grows wider. “I suppose so.” He pauses, hesitates. Thomas almost prompts him, but the blonde starts talking again before he can. “I also suppose I didn’t properly introduce myself earlier. Name’s Newt, Newt Wenley. It was your sister, wasn’t it, who brought Eliza to Open House?”

Newt. An interesting name for an interesting man. 

“Yeah, Teresa. She’s my sister. I couldn’t get off work in time, it was my late night, so I had her take Eliza instead. I apologize for that.” Thomas felt incredibly guilty the day of, and for the week after, Eliza had wanted him to go so badly. He promised her he’d meet her teacher another day, probably for the first Parent-Teacher conference. 

“No need to apologise for something you couldn’t help. Teresa was very kind, and I could tell she cared about Eliza very much. And Eliza talked very highly of you, after introducing me to her aunt. She still talks very highly of you; I honestly was hoping to meet you soon.” Thomas really hopes his face isn’t going red. Children can be so damn embarrassing sometimes. “She says you’re a doctor, are you?”

Oh, thank the lucky stars for an easy question.

“I’m a pediatrician, yeah. Teresa works in the same office, but she specializes in infants and toddlers, I deal with the school age ones.” Thomas honestly doesn’t think he could’ve been a solo parent without all the knowledge his job requires. The same goes for Teresa, who really helped him when Eliza was little, and he questioned every little thing she did or didn’t do. 

“Well, how sweet. A family business, of sorts. You know, my own sister works here, too, at the school. She teaches fourth grade,” Newt explains. “Her wife is the vice principal, as well.”

You’d think that with Thomas having a job that requires him to speak to people for eight hours a day, he’d be better at conversing with his daughter’s teacher. But _something_ has him tongue-tied. “Really? That’s pretty cool. Maybe Eliza will get her for a teacher once she’s in fourth grade. She’d probably really enjoy that.”

Newt lets out a chuckle, “Already planning ahead, are we?” 

Thomas stutters. He didn’t want to sound like _that_ kind of parent. He just didn’t know what else to say! “Um, well, you know—”

Thankfully, Newt saves him from making a major fool of himself. “I’m just messin’ with you, Tommy. When the time comes I’ll definitely pull some strings for you, for Eliza.”

Thomas’ face is definitely red. “Oh, um, thank you.”

And, once again, Thomas thanks his lucky stars.

“CHECKMATE!” Eliza yells, silencing the whole room. Clearly Newt hasn’t discussed the more professional rules of chess yet, because even Thomas knows that what she did is considered rude. But, then again, they are elementary schoolers, so professionalism isn’t something they have or need just yet.

Regardless, Thomas feels a smile split across his face at the sound of his daughter’s prideful exclamation. 

Newt stands up, going over to check the legitimacy of the check, and probably to tell Eliza to just raise her hand next time. 

After a few minutes of discussion between Newt, Eliza, and the boy she’d been playing against, both children stand up and start putting away their board and pieces. Eliza bounces off to a white board in one of the only corners not covered by bookshelves and circles her name in the outer line of the bracket that’s been drawn out. Thomas assumes that, just like in normal brackets, she’ll play whoever wins in the game listed above hers at the next chess club meeting. 

Then Eliza turns around and bounces over to him. “Dad, look! I won!” she exclaims, reaching out to hug his middle as he stands from his chair. 

“I saw, good job, El. You’re so stinking smart, I’m so proud of you.” Maybe it’s overkill, but it’s her first chess game, and she’s his daughter to spoil, so sue him. 

Thomas pushes his chair back to where he found it, the whole time Eliza is chittering in a hushed voice about how she cinched her win. Thomas really does not know a word she’s saying but she’s happy and excited and it warms his heart anyway. Then he hears, “What do I do now, Mr. Wenley?” and he turns around after shoving his chair back beneath the table. 

“Well, since there’s not enough time left for another game, and since your father is here already, why don’t the two of you head home and celebrate your win?” Newt suggests, giving Eliza all his attention. 

She nods enthusiastically, “Okay! See you tomorrow, Mr. Wenley!” And then she’s zipping back over to Thomas and telling him she needs to get her bag from her cubby in the classroom. She grabs his hand and starts pulling him out of the library and into the hall. He has just enough time to spin his head around on his neck and shoot a short wave and a grin in Newt’s direction before Eliza gets him out the door and around the corner. 

\- 

By the time Thomas is pulling in the driveway of his home, he has received a full play-by-play of Eliza’s winning game. He’s thankful when he opens the door to find Teresa in the kitchen working on dinner, so he sends Eliza to her room to put down her bag and get washed up, after promising her she can tell her aunt all about her accomplishment over dinner. 

As he passes the kitchen, he peeks his head in and says, “Prepare yourself, mentally,” before going down the hall to his own room to change and wash up himself. 

\- 

Dinner is just a recap of everything he heard in the car, only this time it was a little tamer, since Eliza was stuffing her face with pasta and garlic bread between sentences. 

\- 

After dinner is cleaned up, everyone is showered, and Eliza is tucked in bed, Thomas sits on the couch by his sister, some version of NCIS playing on the TV. Neither Edison is paying attention, Teresa is on her phone, probably texting Brenda, and Thomas is staring blankly into space, going over the conversations he had with Newt. 

There was just something about him.

“I met Eliza’s teacher today.” Sure, it was out of the blue, and Teresa is probably sending him some concerned side-eye through the strands of her wet hair, but it’s something to fill the silence, and something to keep Thomas from completely overthinking. 

“Mr. Wenley? He’s nice, isn’t he?” There was something she wasn’t saying, Thomas could feel it. He honestly thought he didn’t even have to be her twin to know she wasn’t saying something.

“Very. I think he’s perfect—for Eliza. He said he likes that she asks questions, and she really seems to like him, too.” 

She lets out an inaudible sigh, something Thomas feels in the atmosphere more than hears. “Were you worried she had a horrible teacher, or something? Trust me, if I had gotten any bad vibes when I met him, I would’ve told you and we would’ve gotten her moved to a different classroom.” 

“Or something,” is all he replies. “It’s nothing, T. I’m going to bed, I’ll see you in the morning.” With that, he stands up and stretches. “Tell Brenda I say goodnight. She’s getting El tomorrow after school, right?” 

Over the years, the group of people he’s come to call his family have bent schedules in every possible way in order to keep Eliza’s life smooth and functional. Since she’d started preschool, Thomas, Teresa, Brenda, and Jorge have all taken turns taking her to school and picking her up., making parking lot exchanges with someone else if they had to, or bringing her along on impromptu “Bring Eliza to Work Days/Afternoons.” In most cases, it’s never been a real problem. The secretaries at Thomas and Teresa’s work love her, and have no problems keeping an eye on her as she plays or colors behind the reception desk. Brenda and Jorge both work as repairmen at the local airport and their boss is very lientent to their situation, allowing them to leave to pick up Eliza before dropping her off somewhere else, or bringing her back to play in the repair hanger with some toys that are always stashed there for her (Secretly, their boss, Vince, sees her as a granddaughter, of sorts, but he doesn’t know that everyone else knows that).

They’ve got a good thing going, even if Thomas feels the guilt in his soul every time someone that’s not him—not her _father_ —has to pick her up or leave work early to watch her at home or even take her back to work with them. He doesn’t think that this is a debt he will ever be able to repay. 

“Yeah, she said that if she finishes her job early enough she’ll just bring her back here.” Technically, Brenda still lives with Jorge, but she spends equal amounts of time between there and the Edisons’ home. Half of Teresa’s closet is Brenda’s clothes and work uniforms. 

(Secretly, Thomas has been googling new houses on his lunch breaks, looking for one big enough for all four adults to share, plus Eliza. But, every time he finds one that would be good, he gets a feeling in his stomach that tells him that this comfortable stage in his life is going to end one day. Teresa and Brenda aren’t going to want to start a family in the same house they share with Teresa’s widower of a brother and his daughter and Brenda’s dad. One day, something is going to give, and Thomas’ perfect world is going to be rearranged again, and he’s not going to know what to do.)

“Tell her I say ‘thanks,’ and that’ll see her tomorrow.” He leaves the living room, going to his bedroom and getting ready for bed. He fights sleep for a little bit, processing the day and thinking about what he has to do tomorrow that didn’t get done today. Then he sets his alarm and rolls over, trying hard not to think about his daughter’s first grade teacher and his Earth-shattering grin.


	2. Chasing Rollercoasters

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, all! Sorry for the wait! I had midterms last week and then had absolutely zero motivation the past few days. This chapter is a little longer so I hope you take that as a peace offering!

Eliza’s chess club meets twice a week, on Wednesdays until five-thirty and on Fridays until four. 

Thankfully, Brenda gets off work at three-thirty most Fridays, because Thomas works until five everyday, except for Wednesdays, when he’s _supposed_ to get off at four-thirty, and on Thursdays, when he works until six. 

Unfortunately, however, that means Thomas isn’t going to see Newt again until next Wednesday. 

-

He’s still thinking about his daughter’s teacher when he wakes up on Thursday, a little over thirteen hours after they first met. 

There’s just something about him he can’t put his finger on. Maybe it was just because he was nice? Approachable? Kind? He seems to be the best teacher his daughter could possibly have, kind, caring, and very encouraging of the natural curiosity of elementary schoolers, Eliza especially. 

But Thomas can’t afford to think about that, about _him_ now, so he pushes his own curiosity aside for the time being. Instead, he focuses on getting ready for the day.

He puts some Eggo waffles in the toaster for Eliza’s breakfast and goes to wake her up. She’s not a morning person, like he is (she got that from her mom, 100 percent), so she grumbles and moans and rolls over to her other side, telling her father to wake her up when breakfast was _actually_ ready. He let’s her go back to sleep, she doesn’t take too long in the mornings, so she can have her few extra minutes. So he makes his way back to the kitchen, pulling her waffles from the toaster, smothering them in butter and jam, and sitting them in her usual spot at the kitchen table. He fills a glass with milk and picks up a banana to go with her Eggos, just to make the meal a little bit healthier. She’s a growing girl after all. 

He ignores his own growling stomach, heading back to Eliza’s room to wake her up for real this time. She grumbles some more, but stumbles her way down the hall and to the dining room without further complaint, then scarfs down her food in a half comatose state.

While his daughter eats, Thomas gets ready for work; shaving, brushing his teeth, combing his hair, then getting dressed in his typical semi formal attire. When he’s done, he puts Eliza’s dishes in the sink for her and starts on making lunch for himself, his sister, and his daughter. 

Teresa lays out clothes for Eliza while she’s eating every morning before school, so Thomas settles this debt by being the one to make lunches. He’s got the standard routine down, and they usually all eat similar meals anyway, so he doesn’t typically do anything special. 

About the time he’s cleaning up the lunch prep mess, Teresa is dashing into the kitchen, kissing Thomas on the cheek, grabbing her lunch, and dashing back to the front door. She’s sliding on her flats in the doorway, hollering, “Have a good day at school, El! And see you soon, Tom!” before she’s out the door. She’s catching a ride to work with Brenda today. Some days that’s the only time they’ll get to see each other. 

Once again, Thomas gets the feeling that this perfect balance in his life is slowly tilting, becoming unbalanced, and he’s helpless to stop it. 

“Eliza, are you ready for school?” He yells down the hallway. She appears in the doorway of her room, backpack on, but she looks upset. “What’s wrong, El?”

She looks ready to cry. “I can’t find my homework. I don’t remember what I did with it. I can’t find it and now I’m gonna fail!”

Thomas swallows, kneeling down in front of her. He doesn’t really have time for this, but it can’t be helped. “Hey, hey, don’t cry. It’s going to be a-okay. Just think really hard for me, okay? Where did you last see your homework?” He probably sounds ridiculous, but she’s six, and he’s terrible under pressure. 

“On my desk. I was working on it. I remember I finished it, but I don’t remember what after that. I don’t remember putting it in my bag, and it wasn’t in there when I looked.”

He tries to think rationally, he really does. But the best he can come up with is that the ceiling fan blew it off her desk while she was asleep. He honestly doesn’t remember seeing anything on her desk when he tucked her in, but he can’t say he really looked, either. “What was the homework about?”

“Math. Adding,” she answers sadly. She’s really breaking his heart with her sad eyes. She looks like Amy. 

So, he does what any parent would. He dug through Eliza’s backpack, then looked high and low around her room. Nothing. He should probably have looked harder, he gets a sinking feeling he’s looked right past it, but they’re running out of time.

“How about this?” He asks his daughter, after getting up off the ground after looking under her bed a second time. “I’ll write a letter to Mr. Wenley. He’s nice, yeah? I’ll ask him to forgive us for misplacing your homework and ask if you could get a new sheet and redo it. How about it, El?”

She looks up at him with hopeful eyes, his own eyes, and nods. “Can you do that, Dad? Please!”

He nods, walking into the kitchen and pulling a piece of paper from a scratch pad in the junk drawer. He grabs a pen, hesitates, then starts writing. 

_Mr. Wenley,  
It seems that Eliza’s homework has been misplaced.  
She is very distraught over it, and swears she did it.  
If you would please send her home with a new sheet,  
she will gladly redo it.  
Thank you very much, and don’t hesitate to call me  
if you need to speak to me. My office number is_

He scratches down the only phone number he knows better than his own, and goes to sign the note, but stops. For some reason, his usual prescription signature just feels rude to use here. He thinks about just printing his first name, and goes to do that, but as soon as pen meets paper, he stops again. Didn’t Newt call him “Tommy,” twice? He hesitates, but he’s running out of time, so he goes with it.

_—Tommy_

He doesn’t give himself the chance to second guess what he’s just done. Instead, he’s rushing to the front door, where Eliza is shakily tying her shoes, handing her the note, then shoving his feet into his own dress shoes. Then they’re out the door. 

-

Thomas doesn’t get the chance to even think about Eliza, let alone the note, because his day is insanely busy. He sees a different patient every twenty minutes, like clockwork. He breaks for lunch at twelve-thirty, seeing Teresa for the first time that day as they pass each other on his way into the break room. She’s on her way out, shrugging her lab coat back on and tightening her ponytail. She meets his eyes, they each give the other a nod, then she’s gone. 

While he eats his lunch, he goes over the notes he’s scribbled down on his To Do sheet. Email a mother about a specialist for her son, contact the clinic on East Run road about an emergency tonsillectomy for that one little girl, contact some father about getting his kids up to date on their school vaccines, pick a day to bring Eliza in for a check up. 

Needless to say, he doesn’t get to spare even a moment thinking about Newt.

-

When he pulls in the driveway that evening, he pulls up next to Brenda’s Jeep. He hates the thing, an ugly blue, it’s a manual, and there’s no real backseat for Eliza to sit in, so she has to sit up front with no booster seat. The only upside to the piece of shit is that it’s insurance is cheap because it’s old. And it’s not like they have a ton of options, so he’s never said anything about it. 

Teresa grabs his stuff for him as she gets out the passenger side, beating him into the house to see her girlfriend. When he gets in, he sees Brenda and Eliza sitting at the kitchen table, working together on Eliza’s homework. The house smells like Chinese, and sure enough, the kitchen counter is covered in multiple paper take-out bags. 

Thomas heads to his room, changing out of his work clothes and into sweatpants and an old t-shirt from a concert Amy had taken him to when they were dating. He heads back to the kitchen after getting cleaned up, heading straight for the take-out bags and distributing the food. 

He sets a plate down in front of Eliza and asks, “How was school? Did you give Mr. Wenley my note?” 

He doesn’t miss the look Brenda shoots to Teresa. Teresa quirks an eyebrow up for a split second in response, almost unnoticeable to Thomas through the curtain of dark hair that surrounds her face. She always brushes it out after work, losing the tight ponytail the moment she steps inside her home. Eliza has this ritual, too. 

Eliza nods at him, from across the table, mouth already full of rice. “I gave it to him. He gave me a new sheet to do. Brenda was helping me with it. He gave me a note to give to you, too.”

Thomas wasn’t expecting that, and he hopes it doesn’t show on his face. He’s pretty sure Teresa can just feel it, though. “That’s nice. You can give it to me after dinner, okay?” Eliza just nods through another mouthful. 

If he seems to pick up the pace as he wolfs down chicken fried rice and crab rangoon, no one says anything to him about it. 

“What’s Jorge up to this evening?” Thomas asks after a few minutes of silent chewing, hoping talking will help slow him down. 

Brenda shrugs, “He’s out at Frypan’s. Told me to tell you that it's less fun without you there, and that Fry asks about you a lot. Says you should join him sometime.”

Frypan’s is a bar and grill on the outskirts of the city, close to where Jorge and Brenda live. It’s owner goes by the name Frypan, for whatever reason, and he’s one of the coolest people Thomas had ever met, next to Jorge and Minho, one of his best friends from work. 

When Eliza was two, Thomas used to have her aunts watch her on Friday nights so he could join Jorge there for some drinks and good company. He’d reached the “acceptance” stage of grief and decided to try and fill the hole in life with a new person, but he never had so much as a one night stand. He’d get to chatting with a nice girl or guy and then he’d suddenly close off. He felt like he was cheating on Amy, even though she’d been dead for years. Her last words to him was that she loved him, she loved Eliza, and that she wanted him to not grieve, but to move on and be happy. As much as he wanted to honor her last wish, it was much easier said than done. 

The last time he’d gone to Frypan’s, Eliza had just started her first week at preschool. Teresa and Brenda were watching her back home, and Thomas was with Jorge and Minho. At one point, they left their booth to talk with Fry and one of his bartenders, Gally, leaving Thomas to watch their table. While they were gone, a pretty young thing had approached Thomas and they hit it off very well. After several more drinks, and a lot of flirting, things were looking up. Thomas actually thought he was going to get laid for the first time since Amy’s death. 

He’d taken the girl out back—he doesn’t even remember her name—and pushed her up against the building. After several minutes of hot kisses and frantic touches, Thomas thought everything was actually changing for the better. Then his phone went off, a text from Teresa. All she’d said was that Eliza was in bed and she and Brenda were about to doze off themselves, that he can call if he needs her. And just like that, reality came crashing down. When the girl had asked what was wrong, he’d said it was nothing, just his sister giving him a status update on his daughter, and then the mood shifted. The girl apologized, said she wasn’t interested in men with baggage or kids, and she left. 

Thomas went back inside and told Jorge he was ready to go home, that he was tired and was getting a headache. Jorge knew that there was something else going on, but never pressed. 

As Jorge drove the three of them back to the Edison residence, Thomas tried hard not to think about what had just happened, and what it meant. That he was still a single father, living with the trauma and grief of losing his wife, and that meant that no matter how he acted, dressed, or looked, he was going to meet a lot more rejection than he ever has. 

In the morning, though, everything felt better. When he saw how happy Eliza was to wake up to her Grandpa Jorge sleeping on the couch and her Uncle Minho sprawled out across a recliner, he forgot all about the girl, and the revelation he had when she left him out back of the bar. 

Thomas doesn’t sigh, as much as he wants to. “Tell him I’m sorry, Bren. I just don’t feel like it much, anymore. Work tires me out and weekends are family days.”

Both Teresa and Brenda can read between the lines: “I’m not ready yet. I wasn’t then, and I’m still not now, and I don’t know when I’ll ever be.” Thankfully, Eliza is too young to do the same, the last thing Thomas needs is all three of his girls lecturing him on moving on.

Brenda shrugs again. “Your loss. T and I are thinking about going this weekend. Maybe inviting Minho and Ben, probably Aris, too. I’m thinking of inviting some of my coworkers, as well. Just have a good time with some good people, ya know?”

He hesitates. “I’ll think about it.” 

He isn’t going to think about it, he just doesn’t want to have this discussion at the dinner table, in front of Eliza. With all those people going, there’d be basically no one to watch his daughter if he went. He could always ask their neighbor, Mary, to keep an eye on her for a few hours. But he knows Mary likes her alone time and doesn’t want to jeopardize the neighborly relationship they have. 

Thomas changes the subject, “How was school, El? Don’t answer until you swallow this time.”

-

After dinner, Thomas sits with Eliza and helps her with her homework, giving Brenda a break so she can shower, considering the smell of grease and jet fuel on her was almost overtaking the Chinese take-out. 

It's simple addition, and his daughter is a quick learner, but some of the harder problems require him to pull out a family size bag of M&Ms to help her visualize. When she’s done with the sheet, and all the M&Ms they used have been consumed, he watches her put the sheet in her backpack this time, to remove all doubt. While she’s putting her folder away, she exclaims, “Oh!” and pulls out a sheet of wide ruled notebook paper that’s been folded over a few times. “This is the note from Mr. Wenley!”

She hands it to him and Thomas is very grateful that neither Teresa or Brenda are present to witness him read it. 

It’s a small note. Thomas doesn’t understand why his brain disapproves. But the first word on the page shuts up the disappointment quickly. 

_Tommy—  
I appreciate you explaining the situation for me.  
It’s no problem at all, accidents happen!  
I feel bad that she was upset because of this, and I trust  
you both when you say she did it. It’s not a problem  
at all (it’s just first grade addition, after all!).  
I’m sending Eliza home with a new copy that’s due  
tomorrow, no phone call required (besides, I’d hate  
to bug you when you’re at work)._

_See you soon,  
Newt_

Thomas reads it once, twice, then a third time. How can someone be so nice? This man can’t be real. Amazing personality, adorable smile, extremely kind. Surely people like that don’t exist.

He thinks about sending another note, just something to keep talking with Newt, but he has no reason to. There’s nothing left to say. 

-

Long after his girls have all gone to bed, Thomas lies in his own, staring up at the ceiling, at the moonlight that cascades in through the windows. His thoughts race, thinking of everything and nothing at all. Tomorrow is Friday, then he’s off all weekend, so all he has to make it through is nine more hours at the office, then he can do whatever he wants. 

He thinks about Brenda’s invitation, about finally going back to Frypan’s, about finally having a night out. Maybe he could ask Rachel to watch Eliza, she always loves when his daughter comes to the office. Maybe he should ask Mary. It just feels too short notice, it feels rude. 

He thinks, though, maybe he will ask Rachel to watch Eliza, that way, when she says she can’t, he can at least tell everyone he tried. 

He wonders what Eliza will think. She probably won’t mind. Hell, she’ll probably spend the whole evening teaching Rachel chess (assuming Rachel even agrees). 

And then his train of thought switches tracks, unexpectedly, after he thinks about chess. 

His thoughts are back to Newt. Again. 

There was just something about him, something Thomas could recognize but couldn’t quite place. 

Whatever it was, it was quite distracting. Thomas is’t used to this, whatever this feeling was. The last time he couldn’t keep his thoughts off someone else, he was a senior in high school and had just met Amy. 

Amy.

God, he missed her. She was the light of his life, and not a day goes by when she doesn’t cross his mind at least once. What would she say to him, if he asked for her help in understanding what’s going on right now? How would she answer him if he asked her about moving on; would she really be okay with it, or did she just tell him that so that he’d get over his grief? What would she say if he asked her about their life, this cozy pattern he and Teresa and Brenda and Jorge all have figured out? What would she say when he tells her he can feel the scales tipping, a helpless feeling of falling out of place, a disturbance in the force? What would she think of Eliza’s teacher, and the space he now seems to occupy in Thomas’ brain? 

Would she be proud of him? Would she be pleased to see Eliza’s growth, her progress? Would she be happy with the little girl Thomas raised with only his sister, her girlfriend, and Jorge, or would she notice something that Thomas has missed about her all this time?

No, Eliza is perfect. She’s healthy and smart and kind and so much like her mother that sometimes it _hurts_.

However, Thomas can’t help but feel that he’s missing out on Eliza. That he’s missing milestones, forgetting that all her firsts are big, not just the big things, like first steps, first words, first car, high school graduation. 

Eliza is too young, now, to notice this; that he’s missing out on her firsts. But one day, she’ll look back on something that was big to her and wonder why her father wasn’t there. Because of something as foolish as his job? He pretty much makes his own hours, he had just chosen ones that fit the schedules of the public, not his own life. Maybe he could change some things around, take on a second long day, in exchange for making Friday a shorter day? 

His daughter shouldn’t see her aunt’s girlfriend more than her own father. Perhaps he can talk to Brenda about it, see what she thinks and is willing to work with. 

-

Thomas doesn’t know at what point he drifts off, doesn’t even remember closing his eyes. All he knows is one moment he’s rearranging his work schedule in his head, then the next his alarm is blaring on his nightstand, and the sunrise is slowly creeping in his windows. 

He rolls out of bed, beginning his morning routine. It’s all the same as yesterday: makes Eliza’s breakfast, wakes her up, then shaves, brushes his teeth, and dresses, then starts on lunches. He makes turkey sandwiches for everyone—Brenda is included on day’s she wakes up in Teresa’s bed. 

This morning there are no disasters, thankfully. Thomas gets his daughter out the door and to the school with plenty of time to spare. 

He pulls up at the end of the drop off line, waiting patiently as the cars ahead of him slowly move up after the one at the front of the building pulls off. He only has to wait about five minutes, which is pretty good considering most parents have to pull their kids out of car seats or booster seats before peeling off to start their day. 

He gets a little antsy the closer they get to the front of the line, hoping to get in and out as fast as possible once he reaches the front. He pulls up some more, eventually becoming the next in line, when he gets a notification on his phone. It’s an email, some mother responding to the one Thomas had sent her yesterday about a specialist for her young son, who was dealing with bad anxiety. He was too busy skimming her response to notice the car in front of him pull away. The driver behind him only gives him a second to notice this before they’re beeping their horn at him.

He slams his phone down into the passenger seat, on top of his jacket, and presses a little too hard on the gas. The car jerks forward and he only has a fraction of a second to slam on the breaks again because there is a _human_ crossing in front of his car. In fear, the person _fucking stops_ and turns toward the car, clutching their satchel strap like it will protect them from the front end of Thomas’ Ford Focus. 

_Thankfully_ , the car had barely moved from where it was, and the person was about a foot or two away still. After a beat, Thomas looks directly at the person, ready to spout an apology through the windshield, but then the person looks up and looks directly at Thomas through the glass and Thomas’ heart catches in his throat. 

It’s Newt. 

He’d nearly hit Eliza’s teacher. Good fucking Christ, it really is a Friday. 

Newt only waves at him, a little shakily, before turning back toward the school and continuing to walk. Thomas puts the car in park, then is out of the car and on the passenger side opening Eliza’s door before he knows it—she knows how to undo the seatbelt herself—and his mouth is working faster than his brain. “Newt!”

The blonde isn’t far from him, maybe ten feet away by now, and he stops mid stride, then turns his head to look in the direction of Thomas’ voice. 

“Newt, I’m sorry. Are you okay? I didn’t mean— I mean, I wasn’t paying attention—” Thomas sputters out.

And then Newt is smiling at him. “I’m alright, Tommy, and it’s alright. I hadn’t been paying attention, either. It’s all good, mate.” Then his eyes move to Eliza, who’d jumped out of the car while Thomas was tripping his way through an awkward apology. “How are you this morning, Miss Eliza? Care to accompany me to the classroom?”

Eliza nods, smiling too wide for eight o’clock in the morning. “Sure! Bye, Dad!” She waves back at him as she dashes forward to catch up with her teacher. 

“Have a good day, Eliza. Brenda is picking you up again, today, remember. See you later, Newt.” Thomas isn’t sure why he added that last bit, but it’s too late now. 

“You have a good day, Tommy,” Newt says, giving him a nod. Then, he turns around and heads for the doors of the school, and Eliza is already talking her little head off at him. 

Thomas closes the car door, then dashes back around to the driver’s side and gets in. He doesn’t even get his seatbelt back on until he’s waiting to turn out of the school parking lot, desperate to get away from the drop off line as quickly as possible. 

When he gets to work, someone else has taken his normal parking spot, so he has to settle for his back up spot a few rows away. When he gets inside, Rachel is handing him his iPad and informing him about a cancellation in his schedule, and how she’s going to make some calls and possibly rearrange his appointments so that every possible block is filled (lest his higher ups notice and make some snide comment about it). He’s resigned himself to another terribly busy day, and gives himself one last opportunity to think about the drop off line this morning, then he’s pouring a cup of coffee, washing up, and then greeting his first patient.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the minimal Newt content, but this is a slow burn after all! I'll try to give him a little more screentime in the next chapter, same with Minho and Jorge! I just really wanted to drive home the Single Parent Struggles Thomas has, so I used this chapter to set that all up. I hope I did okay with it!
> 
> Let me know if you guys would prefer side Minho/Ben, Minho/Gally, something else, or nothing at all. I aim to please everyone with this fic!
> 
> Once again, I'm not great with schedules, so the best way to keep informed about updates is to follow me on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/darling_on_fire). Comments and kudos are always appreciated!

**Author's Note:**

> Let me know what you think!
> 
> The title does come from Far Too Young to Die by Panic! at the Disco. I was revisiting my high school emo phase recently and realized it gave me mega newtmas vibes. 
> 
> Chapter two will be up soon, I'm horrible with schedules so I can't promise having one for updates. The best thing you could do is follow my [twitter](https://twitter.com/darling_on_fire) and hope that the algorithm shows you when I post an update. 
> 
> Stay safe, loves!  
> -Cecily


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